Lost Love
by Aletta-Feather
Summary: Or: the one that got away. Several short Tyrion and Sansa one shots in different, though somewhat similar futures, were they do not end up together despite there being something lingering beneath the surface.
1. Wedding Arrangements

Wedding arrangements 

"You're as fine a husband as any woman could hope for," Sansa said, as he relayed her the news. Tyrion shook his head. They were seated at the dinner table, celebrating the birth of Jon's first born. Sansa had travelled all the way to King's Landing for it. Jon was keen to find her a husband, apparently, and they'd already found him a match. Tyrion was not pleased about it, but when his Queen had begged him to marry the girl, he found it too hard to refuse her. He was to marry in a fortnight.

"You were not so fond of my merits as a husband when we were married," he said. Her face fell a little.

"I have seen more of the world since then," she replied, looking him straight into his eyes. He smiled at her. "Haven't we all?" he said grimly, but he laid his hand briefly on her arm. I'm not angry with you, the gesture meant. His hand rested quite closed to hers afterwards. "Thank you," he said after a while. She put her hand on his, gave it a soft squeeze, and picked up her spoon again. "She will be luckier than most, this girl you are to marry." Sansa sighed and then continued: "They intend to marry me off as well."

"Do they?" Tyrion said. It didn't come as a surprise to him. Married people often wanted others to share their bliss, he thought angrily. As if every marriage was blissful! Jon and Daenerys were building their empire, making alliances where-ever they could.

"I won't let them," she said, gritting her teeth. "My last marriage has turned me against the whole thing."

"Jon wants to pressure you?" Tyrion was a little taken aback. "Surely as a widow you can be Warden of the North yourself?"

"I've done perfectly fine so far," Sansa agreed. "But he wants new young Stark blood. Wolf litter." She laughed a little hoarsely. "It's not as if Bran or Arya will do it, so I'll have to. According to Jon, that is."

"I don't see why Bran or Arya couldn't…." Tyrion began, but she cut him off. "Bran, well, he's not exactly ordinary, and Arya…. Well, she isn't either. She is often gone for days and when she comes back…." Sansa fell silent, lost in thought, before she whispered, "another of our enemies is gone."

"Her training," Tyrion gathered. He'd heard about the Stark girl not exactly being a little lady.

"She scares me sometimes," Sansa said. "I wouldn't want to marry her as a suitor either." She shivered. "I shouldn't say this," she said, "but every once in a while, I see Joffrey in her. The joy of hurting people. I've tasted but a little of it myself, when Ramsey was torn apart… But Arya! She truly enjoys it, and it worries me."

"So it is up to you," Tyrion said.

Sansa shrugged. "So it seems, but I won't. I will not do it. Jon best make many more children himself. And who knows, perhaps Arya will meet someone like her on all her travels and they can make themselves little murderers."

"You're a bit harsh on your sister," Tyrion said, but she laughed at him. "You're one to talk," she said. "You killed yours with your bare hands!"

"That's different," Tyrion said. "She hated me. It was either me or her and it was not going to be me."

"Hear, hear," Sansa said, with twinkling eyes and raising her goblet at him.

Tyrion had no choice but to join her.


	2. The Cold North

The Cold North

"It gladdens me to see you are well, my lady," was the first thing he said to Sansa.

"As am I," she replied. "You've done well for yourself."

Jon and Daenerys had passed the gates of Winterfell first but as the Queen's hand, Tyrion had been soon to follow. The Northerners had not welcomed the Dragon Queen with any great enthusiasm, nor had they been pleased with their leader bending a knee. But soon, far too soon, he was facing his former wife for the very first time since Joffrey's murder.

"When one's family spits one out," he said, "it's time to find a new one." Sansa peered at him.

"That's not all you did," she said. "You killed your very own father!"

"He was nothing like yours," Tyrion said. "He deserved death."

He could see Sansa was taken aback by his vitriol. "Let's not speak of the past," he said. "The present brings plenty of difficulties of its own."

"Aye," she said, "and more to come," she replied ominously. "Perhaps I should not yet inform you, Tyrion, but Bran has news for Jon. Your new Queen might not take it kindly and as you are her Hand…"

"Yes?" he said, "do speak, Sansa, please."

"He's of Targaryen descent," she whispered. "Rhaegar is his father and my aunt Lyanna his mother. They were married in secret and father has kept it from King Robert and, well, everyone for ages…"

Tyrion was shocked. "Is this true? They were wed? But that means…." The wheels of his mind were churning.

"He is the true heir. Not she." Sansa said. To her credit, she wasn't smiling nor smirking as she relayed the news to him.

"She will not take it well," Tyrion knew at once with a solid certainty. "Their alliance was just beginning to take shape!"

"From the rumors I've heard they have begun to share more than just a mere alliance…" Sansa posed. She blushed as she asked him: "Have they been sharing a bed as well?"

Tyrion frowned and nodded. "They have. Like true Targaryens, I might add."

Sansa narrowed her eyes. "That's not witty," she said. "It's one of those vile habits of yours, turning everything into a quip."

"Better than all that Stark brooding," he said. "Like you and Jon are so very good at."

"Lion and Wolf do not fare well together," Sansa said through gritted teeth. "I've done my duty. I've told you what you need to know."

"Let's hope Dragon and Wolf do not devour one another either," he said, as she walked away.

Tyrion wrapped himself even better into his cloak. It was cold up North and when he entered the chambers Jon and Daenerys had occupied, he found the cold had found them as well.


	3. Echoes of the Past

Echoes of the past

Tyrion had enough of the Lady of Winterfell. He was often stuck with advising her, whenever his Queen was away – with her King. Jon had become Aegon and a Targaryen wedding had taken place at Winterfell. It seemed to Tyrion that Sansa poured her displeasure about this onto him. No more, he vowed himself one morning as she urged him to help with the business of the day. As she is your wife no longer, there's no need to be protective or polite.

When she snapped at him once too many that day, his own displeasure poured out. "You cannot command me around," he said. "This may be your home but you are no longer my wife. There is no reason for me to take your foul moods any longer."

Sansa huffed. "Considering I was a prisoner," she said coolly, "I'd say I behaved rather politely enough. I could have taken it all out on you, but I never did."

Tyrion's eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't be too sure of that…" he began, before he fell into a litany of complaints.

"You shamed me," he hissed. "Despite all your fake courtesy, your armor, you still found plenty of ways to shame me. To make me feel less. Turning me into an enemy!"

"You are my enemy!" she said, but then she corrected herself. "You were, anyway."

"Which is it?" he responded testily. "Are or were?"

Sansa frowned. "It's rather hard to tell, isn't it?" she shot back at him. "You're our ally. You and your Queen, but I wouldn't call you a friend."

Tyrion found that hurt more than he'd ever expected. Had she so little regard for how he had tried to support her and be kind during that trying time, despite everything? "That's good to know," he said evenly. "I do find honesty helps in relationships. Especially between a man and his former wife…"

"You were not honest," she said. "You kept a thousand things from me."

"To protect you," Tyrion replied. "To keep you from further harm." Her frown told him she did not believe him.

"You kept quite a few things from me as well," he laid the charge back at her feet. "You escaped while I rotted away in a prison."

"You escaped too," she said, and he laughed. Long, harsh and sarcastically. "No thanks to you, dearest Sansa," he said. "No thanks to you."

"No matter what you tell yourself," she said, after a short pause. "You were no hero."

"And you were at most a dutiful wife, but mostly a resentful one. You left me to die, Sansa, and take the blame for one of the greatest crimes to shake the Kingdom."

Sansa smirked. "I'd hardly call his death a crime," she sneered. "He deserved to die."

"Surely," Tyrion said, "but I did not deserve to die for it."

"You didn't die though," she hissed back, "and I had nothing to do with it either. I didn't know what the plan was, only to escape when I was told to do so. I didn't know he was going to die."

"You didn't mind leaving me," he said, but as he spoke the words he knew what she would say to that.

"You were my enemy," Sansa said, her voice prickly. "Why should I care if one more Lannister died? Killed by his own, no less. It was no concern of mine."

He gave her a short bow and walked out. "You'll do well enough without my advice then, Lady Wolf," he said. "Your blood runs as cold as that of the Others. I'd suspected it might, but thank you for confirming it."

* * *

When the door closed behind his little form, Sansa sighed deeply. She had cared a little about leaving him behind, especially when she heard he'd gotten the blame for it, but there hadn't been anything she could do. "He hates me," she muttered to herself. "He hides it well, but he does." It stung. She had tried to be a dutiful wife, even though they'd saddled her with a monster. A Lannister monster no less.

The next days he did not return as her counsel and so she found herself knocking his door at the morning of the fourth day. Aegon had implored her to. He told her to come in, but his face fell as he noticed it was her. Not a good beginning.

"Aegon send you, did he?" Tyrion immediately asked her. "Yes," she replied. He rose his eyebrows. "I thought you'd lie about that," he muttered. "It's good to see that you haven't."

"Clearly I wouldn't have come of my own accord," Sansa said. "Nor do I truly need or desire your help."

"Yet here you are," he said.

"I promised my brother…. Jon, Aegon, whatever he calls himself these days, I would," she replied reluctantly.

"And a Lannister pays their debts…" Tyrion smirked, "except that you're not a Lannister."

"Not anymore, no," she said, "I never truly was."

"No," he said, "You were always of the North, no matter how much you initially assumed you'd like the South."

"So?" she said. "Will you assist me once more, for the sake of the alliance, if nothing else?"

"You're not going to apologize?" he hissed.

"You're not apologizing either," she returned.

Their brows were again furrowed, their faces angry. Sansa stared into his eyes, glaring at him, but he glared back just as fiercely. "There is nothing to apologize for," she finally stated. "We don't have to be friends; we only have to be polite and to cooperate."

"And no a minute longer than is needed," Tyrion posed.

"Precisely," she said. "So I'll see you in a bit."

"Fine," he replied, gritting his teeth. "For the sake of my Queen."

* * *

Weeks passed and Sansa and Tyrion worked together almost every day. It was a chilly atmosphere on most days. It was rather getting to Tyrion, but he'd vowed himself not to be the first one to buckle. She seemed to have taken the position that he was more or less an enemy, or not to be trusted at the very least. Tyrion tried not to take it too personally.

"Perhaps it will soon be over," he said, one day. "The War. Do you know if Aegon will move South once it does?"

"Of course, he will," she replied irritated. "He's the King, isn't he? And hopefully he'll name me Warden of the North." He'd hung onto the title himself while he remained in the North, but that might soon change.

"Why ever shouldn't he?" Tyrion asked. "Unless, he means to…" He narrowed his eyes.

"There's Bran to consider," Sansa said bitterly. "And some Northsmen do still hold my marriages against me."

"I see," he replied.

"Do you?" she said. "Do you really? I'm not so sure."

Tyrion decided not to take the bait and he remained silent. Sansa shrugged. "Fine," she said, "Play the mute. For all I care."

Tyrion was gathering his maps and books for the night when she spoke again. Her eyes were strangely dark. "You had a wife before me," she whispered.

"Yes," he said, hesitant to say more.

"Petyr," she began, "Lord Baelish said… When I was on his ship and you… I did feel some remorse about leaving you behind, and he said that I should not feel guilty, that you were not a good man."

"And Petyr Baelish was?" Tyrion hissed. "As I recall, you had him killed by your own dear sister's hand."

"He said," she continued, quite determined it would seem. "That you grew bored of your first wife and handed her to your father's soldiers instead. That you might have done the same with me in time…"

"And you believed him?" It was hard to keep the horror from his voice. This was appalling.

"I didn't know what to believe anymore," she said. "And ever since Ramsey, I have been prepared to believe the very worst of people, just in case it is true. Another one of Lord Baelish's lessons. His little game… What is the worst possible motive for someone to do something and does it adequately explain their actions…" Her laugh was hoarse and bitter.

Tyrion sighed. "That does sound like Petyr Baelish," he said. "I think that tale said rather more about him than it does about me, Sansa. It was my father that told his soldiers to rape my wife, not me. They told me she was a whore and it was all a great big joke to them."

Sansa's eyes grew large. "Your own father?" she whispered.

"I killed him for a reason," he said.

"And Shae," she shot back. "And Shae," he agreed.

Tyrion sensed he should be angry at his former wife for even entertaining such notions about him, but all he felt was a deep tiredness. He gathered up his things and walked towards the door. Just before he left her, he said, in passing, without stopping to hear her reply: "I have some advice of my own for you , Sansa. Don't believe too quickly what others tell you, especially when it doesn't match your own experience."

* * *

The news that the Night King had fallen at last came as a huge relief to Tyrion. Soon he would travel South once more. Away from the cold. Away from the Starks. From one in particular.

He was surprised she wasn't happier herself. The threat in the North had gone. Aegon had named her as Warden of the North. Surely nothing would worry her anymore?

"It will be different without you," she said, as he was putting away books and scrolls. "It was… You were a prudent counselor."

"I do try," he said.

"You did," she agreed. "You have."

"You won't have to be irritated by my presence anymore," he said, "Winterfell will be Lannister free."

Sansa smiled. "There are worse Lannisters," she shrugged. "In my own experience," she added.

Tyrion smiled back at her. "I might say the same about the Starks," he admitted. "You'll do well, I think."

"Thank you," she said. "So will you, I'm sure of it."


	4. Speechless

Speechless

Tyrion had been a Winterfell for two weeks. So far he'd managed to escape Sansa. He wondered if she was beginning to notice it though. During the breaking of the fast that morning she'd stared at him and it had made him quite uncomfortable.

Jon and Daenerys were cooperating even more than before. Their love had not faltered after finding out about Jon's true heritage, rather it had increased it. They were no longer alone in the world. If Tyrion hadn't been feeling so sad and defeated himself, it would have gladdened his heart, but now he felt mostly irritation. They had found a person to love, to share life's harshness with, but he had not. And out here, surely he would not.

He'd told Jon, very awkwardly, at Dragonstone that he hadn't harmed Sansa nor had the marriage been consummated. That she was smarter than she let on, but apparently she was starting to let on…

Yet now that he was here and had seen her once more in person, the tender feelings did not reappear. The bile and the shame and the anger did. He'd helped her as best as he could, but what had he gotten in return? Tyrion knew he was being unreasonable, but seeing her standing like she owned the place…. All cold and in command, it made him so angry. She was no longer a sweet girl being imprisoned; she had become a player of the great game….

"My lord Hand," she said, approaching him unawares as he was warming his hands over a fire in the courtyard. "Your Queen is asking for you."

"My Queen?" he said. Sansa shrugged. "Jon bended the knee," she said, "the North itself is still quite divided over that decision."

"And you, my Lady?" he asked. Her cold eyes did not betray anything. Her answer was short. "I support Jon," she said, "yet I hope that when this war is over, he – and she – will reconsider."

"An independent North," he said, "with you to rule it per chance?"

Sansa's eyes narrowed. "Would that be so very wrong?" she shot back. "I can think of far worse rulers. I suffered far worse rulers."

"You have changed," he said.

"Not so very much," Sansa replied. "I wish to be someone in my own right, not just a woman sitting beside some man."

"Gods forbid," he hissed, "Because marriage brought you _such_ great harm…"

"Yes," she said, ice in her voice now. "It did rather."

"Not just you though," he said, coldly, "your first husband has quite a few complaints of his own, and your second is no longer around to voice his protestations."

"They both got what they deserved," she said. "I'd run along if I were you. Mustn't let your Dragon Queen waiting."

* * *

Tyrion was seething over her insolence. Where had the quiet, grieving and resentful girl gone? What had she become? The Northern version of Cersei? The Sansa he recalled had been quite different. She had had some cunning about her, a little spark of mischief, but this was something else. So I deserved to die, did I? So I deserved to be imprisoned? To be ridiculed and cheated by my own lover? To be deserted by my wife? Tyrion realized that maybe, just maybe, that wasn't what she meant, but he was in no mood to give her the benefit of the doubt.

* * *

"You do realize she has hopes of becoming Queen herself one day?" he couldn't help mentioning. Tyrion sat across from Jon in his small council room. It wasn't a lavish room, but quite sparsely furnished. Very Stark like, Tyrion found. Everything here was so bleak. So unlike the South. Jon's eyes darkened. "Daenerys would not like that," he muttered. "I personally wouldn't mind that much."

"You are aware of it at least?" he said. That was good, he thought.

"And you don't seem to have any trouble shoving a dagger in my sister's back," he said, "now why would that be Tyrion? I thought you were rather impressed with her."

Tyrion frowned. "I find her much changed," he replied. "I hardly recognized her."

"She might say the same," Jon replied. "You've barely spared a kind word for her, or any word at all."

"There's no point discussing it with you," he said. "You're too partial."

"You could try me," Jon said. "I won't have our alliance troubled with this."

"Forget I said anything," Tyrion said. "It's nothing. Just memories plaguing me."

"Perhaps that's true for Sansa as well," her brother mumbled. "She doesn't talk much about things that happened to her. None of us do, but that doesn't mean it's not still present."

Tyrion nodded. "That makes all of us," he said.

* * *

Jon's remark had him pondering though and so when the moment was there, he cornered Sansa one night as she was leaving the Great Hall. "What did you mean precisely," he asked, "when you said both your husbands got what they deserved? And clearly I don't mean Bolton…"

"You wouldn't," she said. "It has to be about you always."

It didn't bode well. Tyrion grabbed her sleeve as she tried to depart. "I demand an answer," he said. "It's the very least you owe me."

"I don't owe you anything," she replied, "but since you insist…"

"I do," he stated firmly, "insist."

"You got my courtesy, if not my kindness," she said, "as you well know. Ramsey got, well, he adored those hounds. It was either me or him. He'd hurt me a thousand times over already; it was long overdue."

"I got a lot of resentment from you as well," Tyrion said, "though perhaps understandably so. In that case, I do apologize. I thought you meant I'd deserved my imprisonment, or Shae's betrayal, or your desertion."

Her face fell, but her eyes grew icy once more. "That says rather more about you than about me, I'm afraid," she finally said. "I haven't wished you harm. I didn't want to be trapped in a marriage, but you have been friendly and somewhat protective of me. I have not forgotten that, though it seems you do." She left Tyrion baffled.


End file.
